


Improvement Required

by chick_with_wifi



Series: Isn't there a law against that? [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Crack, F/F, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chick_with_wifi/pseuds/chick_with_wifi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bank robbery, a car chase, what could possibly go wrong?<br/>Featuring: romance, flashbacks to middle school and, as always, humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More was requested by cheeseblock446 so here it is. Hope you enjoy!  
> Small disclaimer: I know nothing about banks so most of this comes from what I have seen on TV.

One cloudy Friday evening, Team Machine were hanging out in Thornhill University’s spacious common room. Shaw was sat on a comfortable chair, one knee bent and her elbow resting on top of it. Facing her on a beanbag was Root, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles with Bear sat on the floor next to her. On the sofa were Harold and John.

“You know your super secret coding project that you were nearly arrested for, Harry?” asked Root with her signature smirk.

Convinced his friend was going for some sort of world record for how many times she could mention it, he replied, “Believe it or not: I do.”

“I was thinking we should rob a bank to get money for it.”

“Is this a genuine suggestion or are you just being incredibly salty?” asked Shaw.

“A genuine suggestion of course!” Root sounded affronted. “Even so, I am the saltiest person you know. Literally.”

“How do you mean?” asked John.

“CF patients literally have salt on their skin. I’m completely not suggesting you do, but if you were to lick me I would taste salty.”

“You learn something new every day,” said John, impressed.

“Is nobody going to comment on the fact that Root just said we should rob a bank?” asked Harold with a sigh. At this point he really shouldn’t be shocked, but that had yet to stop him.

Shaw gave him a tired look. “Fine. Root no we can't rob a bank,” she said in a sarcastic deadpan. Then, in her normal voice, “Don't we need, like, a safecracker and a getaway driver?”

“I know a guy,” said Root mysteriously. “Trust me, he’s the best in the business.”

“He’s not that great,” commented Zoe casually, walking past the open door with a pile of laundry in her arms. “He once wore two belts.”

“It’s going to be an obese guy called Skinny Al or something isn't it?” said Shaw, shaking her head.

“Or some amateur hacker living in his mom’s basement,” added John.

“I can promise you he is neither of those things.” Root stood up. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, we're doing this now?” Shaw sprung to her feet and looked at Root, who was putting on her leather jacket and taking hold of Bear’s harness.

“There’s no time like the present.”

They followed her to the student car park and piled into Shaw’s old landrover. When Shaw got into the driver's seat Root didn't question it, even though she was the only one who actually knew where they were going. As Harold opened the back passenger door, Root whistled and pointed for Bear to get into the car and he did so, sitting in the middle of John and Harold. “We’re meeting him in the supermarket car park,” explained Root as she sat next to her girlfriend and put on her seatbelt.

Shaw nodded and accelerated her car down the freeway. As they reached their local supermarket she exclaimed, “Hey, who nicked the entrance?!”

“It’s right there you moron,” said Root, pointing.

They pulled into the car park and, at Root’s instructions, came to a stop next to an unmarked black van. From the driver's seat emerged a young man of about their age wearing a dark coat with the collar turned up and sunglasses. “Hiya Coco Puffs,” he said in a strong New York accent.

Root’s face stretched into a grin. “Hello Lionel.”

He opened the back doors of the van to reveal a control station filled with computer screens and keyboards. Passing Root a Bluetooth earpiece, he explained, “You’re going to go in, infiltrate the vault, grab the dough and get out. Any questions?”

Shaw raised her hand.

“Yes?”

“How?”

With a knowing smile, he held out some grappling hooks, wires and an other assorted tools. “Using these. You’re a smart crew, you’ll figure it out. Root will be here watching your progress through the security cameras.”

The brunette nodded and took a seat in front of the computers with Bear beside her. Lionel was in the front of the van, yelling angrily into his phone with increasingly colourful language about some deal that had gone wrong.

The bank had a small skylight made of perspex above one of their main vaults. Nearby was a CCTV camera that she had easily moved to face that area of the roof. Really, Root thought as she froze the security footage on the main computers but kept a live feed for herself, they were just asking to be robbed by a group of determined college students. She watched Shaw lift off the cover and fix her grappling hook to the edge of the gap, admiring her muscles. John did the same, but as soon as they descended into the vault there was no way of monitoring them.

…..

Shaw and John descended from the ceiling on the wires, each slowly letting out enough at a time to keep themselves going at a steady rate.

John managed to spin himself around on the surprisingly strong wire. “Look at me!” he whisper-shouted.

“I’d rather not.” Shaw dropped gracefully to the ground, landing perfectly on her feet like a cat.

John released his wire all at once and plummeted down, landing precariously and promptly falling flat on his face.

“Can you see the money?” asked Root through the earpiece, the line making her voice sound crackly. “You’re out of sight of the cameras at the moment.”

“Yeah, it has a little neon sign with a flashing light and of course I can't see the money! It’s a bank not a museum!”

“Then how about looking for the money?” suggested Root sweetly.

Shaw glanced around the room. It was all grey, presumably made of some sort of enforced steel and the main source of light was a UV light embedded in the ceiling. In the center of the room was a table for looking at the contents of safety deposit boxes, since they were always kept strictly private. One wall was filled with numbered drawers, the deposit boxes, and another contained a reasonably sized safe with a turn dial handle. Jackpot. Shaw walked over to the safe, leaving John to examine the rest of the room, and put her ear to it. Listening for the distinctive click, the moved the dial this way and that. When it was open she could see that it was filled with piles of notes. She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the tools Lionel had given her - a handheld metal detector. Then she took out one of the wads of money and wafted the tool over it. When she was satisfied there was no tracker present, she pocketed them. Quickly, she scanned a few more and shoved them into John’s arms.

“You need to get out to there now!” said Root urgently. “The silent alarm just went off.”

“But I didn't hear anything,” protested John.

Shaw cuffed John upside the head then pulled herself back up the wire as he did the same. When they reached the roof, the pair each pulled themselves up and climbed out, Shaw momentarily pausing to silently set the skylight back in position.

…..

When Root saw John and Shaw emerge with bulging pockets, she breathed a sigh of relief and sagged back in her chair. Bear whined and she absently reached down to pet him. Seconds later her friends came hurrying into view, so Root and Harold vacated the van and climbed into Shaw’s landrover with Harold somehow ending up in the driver's seat and Bear on Root’s lap.

“Home, Jeeves,” shouted Shaw as she jumped into the back seat and slammed the door.

“Follow that car!” cried Root, dramatically pointing at an empty space of air with a self-satisfied expression on her face. She’d always wanted to say that.

“What?” exclaimed Harold.

“Just drive!” said John.

Harold hurriedly turned on the ignition and slammed the accelerator down, swinging the steering wheel to the left and driving out of the car park. Lionel’s van had long since vanished, leaving them in its dust.

The atmosphere in the car didn't know whether it wanted to be tense or triumphant, so nobody spoke. Root had a small coughing fit and was doubled over in her seat, but it didn't last too long.Going ten miles an hour over the speed limit, Harold was turning faintly green. 

The shops and houses flew past the window and they had nearly reached the college campus when Shaw spoke up, “Um, I don't meant to alarm anybody but we're being chased by a police car.”

“Flip, the coppers!” exclaimed Root in a terrible English accent.

“DRIVE!” yelled John, turning in his seat to get a better look at the rapidly approaching blue flashing lights.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” shouted Harold slightly hysterically, clutching the wheel so tight his hands were in danger of becoming one with it.

“Ugh, move over!” Root told Bear to lie on the floor and unclipped her belt, kneeling up on her chair and leaning over Harold to take the wheel. She yanked it towards her and abruptly turned the car down a side street. As soon as it was done, she sat back down and put on her belt, tossing her hair out of her face.

“Um, hey?”

“We need a diversion,” she muttered.

They reached a set of traffic lights that turned red and Harold braked the car.

“What are you doing?” asked Shaw as if he’d lost the plot. “This is a car chase!”

“It’s the law,” stated Harold calmly.

“Move out the way,” ordered Shaw, climbing between the two front seats and hitting her head on the car roof and wincing.

“Where do you expect me to go?” asked Harold.

“That’s not my problem,” said Shaw, eventually settling for sitting in Harold’s lap since no other options presented themselves.

While all this was taking place, the traffic light turned green without any of them noticing.

“Do you not go on green anymore?” asked Root mildly.

“Huh? Oh.” Shaw stepped on the ignition and drove like a maniac, getting honked by at least five drivers and given the middle finger by one. “How are we doing, John?” she called over her shoulder.

“No cops in sight, but they’re probably not far behind.”

She settled into a determined expression and when a children's soft play area with a car park behind the building - out of sight of the main road - came up on the left she pulled into its car park. “Everybody out.”

“I’ll give you this much, the authorities will never look for us here,” commented Harold.

“Who knew organised crime could be so much fun?” asked John, still exhilarated by everything.

“More like disorganised crime,” deadpanned Shaw. She pushed open the door and led the way into the large, apple-shaped building.

Inside was a colourful array of slides, ball pits and other fun stuff filled with children screaming and laughing. Root immediately had fond flashbacks to her childhood, and stifled a laugh at Shaw’s horrified expression. 

“Excuse me,” said a young woman dressed in a red uniform. “You can't be in here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She eyed the entire group who had frozen shiftily at the sound of her voice. When her gaze alighted on Bear she just sighed.

Root immediately unleashed a dizzyingly fast sign language monologue. “I’m sorry but we are currently hiding from the police because my friend here wants to build an omniscient artificial intelligence and we really needed the money and may or may not have had to rob a bank.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “What did she say?”

Shaw forced a smile. “Dreadfully sorry but we mistook this for a five star hotel.”

The woman kept a passive expression. “Ok. Just don't break anything on your way out.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” said Root breezily.

The team got back into their car, with Shaw driving this time, and everybody kept an eye out for sirens or flashing lights. Fortunately none materialised and they were able to return to campus.

It was almost night when they arrived and the building was in complete darkness. The four of them, five if you count the dog, tiptoed into their building and had almost reached the stairs when the lights suddenly came on and Joss’s voice ordered, “Stop right there.”

They all froze with terrified expressions and slowly turned to see Joss silhouetted in the doorway with one hand on her hip. Grace and Zoe were behind her, making the trio look rather like Charlie’s Angels.

“I’m not mad,” said Joss, “I’m just disappointed. And you are all grounded for the foreseeable future.”

They all protested in unison, a clamour of voices saying how unjust she was being even though they were the ones who had broken the law.

“Just don't do it again and we won't tell anyone,” said Grace.

“How did you even know?” asked Harold.

Zoe raised her eyebrows. “You don't want to know.”

“You're right, I probably don't,” said Harold. “Goodnight all.”


	2. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOCISVU, more you have requested and more you shall recieve.

On Saturday morning, since they had been grounded by Joss and had a ton of studying to do, Root and Shaw stayed in their dorm room. Root was sat on the sofa finishing her nebulizer while Shaw cooked pancakes for their breakfast.

The nebulizer beeped, signalling it was finished, and Root joined Shaw in the kitchenette as she dismantled it and put the pieces in the holder. “Do you remember the day we met?” Root asked out if the blue.

“The day we met or the day we first spoke?” Shaw flipped the pancake expertly.

Leaning against the counter, Root clarified, “The day we were first made aware of each other's existence. When you randomly transferred into my middle school halfway through the last year.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” said Shaw as she slid a pancake onto a plate for herself and began making another for Root.

“I don't think you’ve ever heard the story from my point of view,” mused Root aloud. “That must be rectified immediately!”

When the pancakes were ready and Root had taken her morning pills, she joined Shaw on the sofa and prepared to tell the story. Sitting cross legged with her plate in her lap, she began.

Approximately seven years ago  
“Harold,” moaned Root with her head resting in her desk. “I’m tired.”

“I know you are, but complaining won't help,” he said sympathetically.

“It makes me feel better.”

“Then by all means carry on.” He glanced up to the board as he began copying down the work.

“Don't mind if I do.” She took the pen in her left hand and concentrated on trying to teach herself to write with it. If she focussed, she could form all the letters quickly and legibly but it still looked spikier than her writing with her right hand.

Root had spent the previous two days in hospital, having an IV inserted into her right arm so that antibiotics could be injected through it directly into her bloodstream every eight hours to fight her latest infection. Her arm was incredibly sore and she couldn't really move it, not to mention the fact that having a tube inside you doesn't really do a whole lot for body image issues. On the plus side her parents were being beyond amazing. Mr Groves had taken over the medical side of things, measuring out the correct dosage and administering it. Mrs Groves was more adept at taking care of Root emotionally, giving her hugs and sympathy when she needed it. She’d allowed her daughter to have the previous day off school to catch up on sleep since the eight hour rotations had meant she'd had next to none and the antibiotics made her feel awful. The decision to allow her to go back to school was for two reasons, firstly so she didn't miss two weeks of lessons and secondly so that she could spend time with her friends and feel like a regular kid again. 

The door to the classroom opened and Root turned to see who had entered. It was a girl of her own age, about the same height as her, with long, dark hair in a ponytail. She was wearing huge combat boots that had to be at least two sizes too big, cargo pants and a shirt with a silver slogan that read ‘fierce’. She was looking at the teacher with a slightly bored expression on her face, but also holding her mother’s hand. 

Root’s pen clattered to the floor and she stared at the new arrival until Harold snapped his fingers in front of her face. She leant sideways to pick her pen up, but at that exact moment the teacher asked, “What is your name?”

“Sameen Shaw,” replied the new girl with the slightest trace of an accent.

Root gasped and tipped her chair over, taking it down with her as she crashed to the floor. The almighty sound drew the attention of the entire room and Root crawled under the desk. Laughter echoed in her ears and she turned bright red. Thankfully, she had landed on her left side so her IV wasn't damaged or anything, but she had already royally embarrassed herself in front of this startlingly good looking newcomer with a totally boss name. Great first impression, Root.

The girl said something to her mother in a language Root didn't understand, shortly there was the sound of the door closing. Of course there was no way she could move out from under the desk in case she did something else stupid. Instead she stayed put and tried to memorize the sounds of what Sameen had said so she could Google it later. She just thought it was a really beautiful language OK.

“Are you alright down there?” called Harold.

Root raised her left arm so her hand was above the desk and made it into a mouth shape. “I’m fine,” she said, moving her fingers and thumb so it looked like her hand was talking.

“Root,” said their teacher Mrs Denny, “Come out from under there please.”

She obediently crawled out and stood her chair back up, continuing with her work as if nothing had happened. Although she spent half the lesson turning round to try and catch another glimpse of the newcomer.

Present day  
“You absolute gay loser,” laughed Shaw. “You fell off a chair because I said my name!”

Root, who was blushing at the memory, nodded. “I know. Mind you, I fall off furniture all the time so it's not that big a deal.”

“That's true.” Shaw affectionately patted her hand. “But I wouldn't want you any other way.”

“Awww, thanks babe. Do you remember the day we first spoke?”

Shaw nodded and swallowed her mouthful, “But I’m guessing you're going to tell this story as well?”

Approximately seven years ago  
Four weeks or so after Shaw’s first day (and two weeks or so after Root had her IV removed), Harold and Root were sat on the grass in front of the school doing homework while they waited for Mr Finch to pick them up.

Root was frowning at a pair of insoles she was trying to put in her shoes, since they didn't really make shoes thin enough for her feet. “I’m guessing this end goes in the foot bit,” she said as she slid part of it into her black ballet pump. “‘The foot bit’ oh well done Root. The whole thing is a foot bit!”

Harold just sighed and shook his head for the millionth time that day.

“Excuse me,” said a familiar voice from somewhere behind them. “You’re Root, right?”

“I...uh…” She opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Sameen Shaw was actually talking to her. This is not a drill, remain calm. “Yeah?”

“You don't sound sure.”

“No, I am,” said Root hastily.

“And I’m Harold. You must be Sameen.” He offered her his hand and he took it.

Sameen sat down on the grass next to Root. “Would you be able to help me with the physics homework?”

“My pleasure,” said Root. Really? ‘My pleasure’? What sort of lame ass response is that? Now she's going to think I’m a total loser nerd. Like, I am but she doesn't need to know that.

“Great.” Sameen got the sheet and a pen out of her bag and showed what she had done to Root.

“You've got all of that right,” Root said, reading through her answers. Even Sameen’s handwriting was beautiful!

It turns out Root was a really good teacher and she managed to help her new friend get the hang of the equations pretty quickly. When they had finished, Harold stood up with his books in his arms.

“Where are you going?” asked Root.

“The library,” he replied, gesturing to his French homework.

“Why, what did we do?”

“Not be a dictionary.” Without further comment, he left them.

Root stretched out into a more comfortable position and checked the time on her phone. “Mr Finch will be here in about half an hour. Do you have any more homework?”

Sameen shook her head. “My parents will be here around then too.”

Root debated whether or not to get a book to read out of her bag, since she didn't want to bore Sameen with her lame conversational skills, but then the new girl got something out of her own bag. An iPod, to be exact, and she offered Root an earbud.

“Sorry, my music taste can occasionally be a bit weird,” she said as Root accepted the earbud. 

“Just like me,” said Root, promptly slamming a hand over her own mouth. Seriously, sometimes she worried it wanted to go solo.

Thankfully, Sameen laughed. “I’m starting to see that, yeah. But you're cute.”

Root thought she was going to pass out. Through the earbud, the first few notes of Whistle by Flo Rida sounded and that signalled the end of conversation for the time being.

Little did Sameen know that Root would spent the next month listening to that song on repeat and replaying that afternoon over and over in her head.

Present day  
“That's so sweet,” said Shaw. “You majorly had a crush on me, didn't you?”

Root nodded. “You could say that. I just thought you were so cooool.”

“I thought you were a giant geek,” admitted Shaw. “But you were also really cute.”

Blushing, Root smiled. “Hey, do you remember when John started studying more to impress Carter? Even before the two of them spoke she was being a good influence.”

“Yeah,” said Shaw. “And how Harold and Grace literally met at chess club or something.”

“Ahh, nostalgia.” Root leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes.

“Don't think I haven't noticed your plate is still half full,” said Shaw.

Something solid made contact with Root's arm. “Hey!” She opened her eyes and discovered it was a squeezy bottle of maple syrup.

“Finish your food and I'll stop throwing things at you.” The Persian shrugged. “It’s as simple at that.”

“Fine, fine, I’m eating, I’m eating.” She shoveled the rest of her pancake into her mouth then stood, put her and Shaw’s plates in the dishwasher.


	3. chapter 3

Root woke up to the sound of coughing and it took her an entire minute to make the mental connection that it was not actually coming from her. She untangled her legs from her duvet and stood up, flicking on the light. Wrapped up in her covers like a human burrito, Shaw was surrounded by a mountain of tissues and sniffing pitifully.

“Rooooot,” she whinged. “I’m illlllll.”

“I can see that,” replied Root, patting her girlfriend's arm. “You poor thing.”

Shaw coughed. “Can you make me a cup of tea?” She made the most miserable face Root had ever seen.

“Of course, baby.” In the kitchen, she filled up the kettle and switched it on. As it boiled she took her morning pills and debated what to do about PT. Shaw was in absolutely no state to help her and she considered calling one of the boys, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth bothering them over. She could do something herself later. For once she wasn't the illest person around. Not gonna lie, it was a weird-ass feeling.

The light on the kettle clicked off and she made Shaw’s drink. Careful not to spill any, she brought it through to the bedroom and perched on the end of Shaw’s bed as she drank it.

“How bad to you feel?” asked Root gently, noticing the thin layer of sweat that plastered stray strands of Shaw’s hair to her head and her red nose.

“Awful,” groaned Shaw, pausing to blow her nose. “My head hurts, my throat hurts, my stomach hurts and my nose could easily be mistaken for Niagara Falls.”

Root bit her bottom lip and felt Shaw’s forehead with the back of her hand; it was considerably warmer than usual. She discreetly wiped her hand on her pyjama bottoms. “Maybe you have a bug? There has been one going round recently.”

Shaw nodded and set her empty mug on the nightstand. “Shouldn't you go? I don't want to make you sick. Well, sick-er.”

Smiling, Root said. “Don't cough on me and we should be fine. Plus, as a professional ill person I can give you pro tips.”

Shaw snorted. “Pro tips on how to be ill?”

“Yes.”

“Since you're staying,” croaked Shaw, “could you help me to the sofa?”

Root stood and offered Shaw her arm. The latter's hands were clammy as she rested most of her weight on Root and slowly made her way to the living room, trailing one hand along the wall for balance. Then she lowered herself into the sofa and curled up into a ball at one end. “Could you get my duvet?” she asked in a small voice.

“Of course.” Root fetched the duvet and gently laid it over Shaw, tucking it around her like a cucoon so just her head was visible. When this was done, Shaw looked pointedly at the television.

Root let out a slow breath. “I suppose you'd like me to switch the television on for you as well?”

Shaw nodded mutely and sniffled into a tissue.

Root grabbed the remote off the coffee table, pressed the power button and set it in Shaw’s lap. “Try not to need me for half an hour; I need to do medical stuff.”

“OK,” Shaw said as she began to channel surf.

From the pharmacy (read: medicine cabinet bigger than the fridge) Root got the respiratory device officially known as an ‘incentive spirometer’ but was referred to in the Groves household as the ‘ball machine’. The basic idea was it exercised CF patient’s lungs by getting them to breathe forcefully and in a controlled manner. The device was made up of three small chambers containing plastic balls and a mouthpiece. Root lay on her stomach on the bed, set up a YouTube video on her tablet and breathed into the mouthpiece. She did three sets of seven breaths, counting on one hand, then rolled onto her left side and repeated the process. 

It got progressively easier as her lungs woke up and halfway through the final set on that side she had a cough attack. She subconsciously curled into herself and clenched her hands into fists as the coughs shook her entire body as if the forces of good and evil were battling it out in her lungs. Amid this, she felt something catch in her throat and ran through to the bathroom where she spat a mouthful of blood into the toilet. “Great,” she muttered sarcastically, wiping away the spit trail with a piece of toilet paper.

“You alright?” called Shaw from the sofa, concern in her croaky voice.

“Never better,” Root called back, the action making her cough. No more came up so she returned to the bedroom to finish her treatments.

Selecting a different YouTube video, she quickly did her three sets lying on her right then three sat up. Once that was completed she did her nebulizer and put it away before going to check on Shaw. “How are you doing? Can I get you anything?”

Shaw mulled it over for a second. “The newspaper, please.”

Root handed her yesterday's paper that neither of them had gotten round to reading then collapsed onto the unoccupied sofa.

“Root?” asked Shaw. “I’m too ill to turn the pages.”

“I just sat down,” whinged Root.

“But I'm ill,” protested Shaw with a pout.

Clearly I've been running off on her, thought Root. “Just this once, Sweetie.” She moved to sit next to Shaw and gently pressed herself into her girlfriend's side and rested her head on her shoulder. When Shaw had finished reading she nodded and Root reached over to turn the page.

A little while later Shaw painfully cleared her throat. “My head hurts. Can you read it to me?”

Root rolled her eyes and untangled herself from Shaw. “Read it with your eyes closed.” She stood and went into the kitchenette to make pasta because whoever said you can't have pasta for breakfast has obviously never tried it, decided Root as she got a frying pan out of one of the cupboards.

Meanwhile on the sofa, Shaw’s head was pounding, her stomach felt like it was tearing itself to shreds and she was so nauseous she was surprised she hadn't turned green. “Root?” she called feebly. No response. She tried again, louder. “Root!” Still no response. “For pity's sake Root are you deaf or someth-oh.” She slapped herself on the back of her hand. “Stupid Shaw. She’s your girlfriend, you really ought to remember these things.”

Slowly, Shaw shuffled across the sofa and reached her arm out to try and grab the remote. Her fingertips could just brush against it so she threw hr entire body to the side, pitching across the seat and triumphantly grabbing the remote. The sudden movement made her feel dizzy so she lay still for a second while her equilibrium stabilised. Then she sat up and tossed the device at Root.

In one swift movement, Root spun round and hit the remote with a frying pan she was holding for some bizarre reason. The two women watched in horror/amusement as it flew across the room and landed on the carpet a few inches away from where Bear was sleeping.

“I refuse to believe you could hear that approaching but not me yelling,” said Shaw.

“Actually, I felt the breeze of it approaching and acted accordingly,” said Root as if that sort of thing happened all the time. Which, around her, it did.

“Are you, like, secretly Daredevil or something?” asked Sshaw.

“Daredevil is blind, not deaf. Hawkeye is deaf,” explained Root.

“But surely he doesn't go around hitting things with frying pans?”

“No, he goes around hitting things with arrows.”

Shaw smiled. “Now that I have your attention, could you go to the store for painkillers? And that store that sells CDs and buy me the one that was on the radio that we liked and goes like this: sing! Whoa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-o. Whoa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-o.”

Root nodded. “Yeah, OK. Just let me eat and get dressed.” She scarfed down that pasta she’d made while she and Shaw were talking. In the bedroom she threw on some clothes and hummed the tune of the song. She couldn't for the life of her remember the title or the artist, nor could she remember enough words to Google the lyrics. This is going to irk me all day, she thought. Such is life. Her leggings bunched up around her legs and she sighed.

“I’m too skinny for my leggings,” she complained on her way into the living room.

“I thought the phrase was ‘I’m too sexy for my shirt’?” said Shaw, failing to hide her smirk.

“That too.” Root tossed her hair and struck a dramatic pose: head thrown back, hand on hip.

The pair laughed so hard they both coughed in unison. “Jinx!” said Root. She bent down to clip Bear’s harness on him. “See you soon.”

Outside, the air was cool and there was a slight breeze. She made swift progress to the corner shop, known locally as the TARDIS since it was literally about one square meter and sold everything from toilet cleaner to rucksacks. Root briefly scanned the shelves, searching for painkillers. As she was doing so, she briefly paused to cough and held onto Bear for support.

The other customers, an elderly couple and a few teenage boys, all stared and took a few steps away from her. In all fairness, she did sound like she had the pneumonic plague. “I promise it's not contagious,” said Root once she was done.

One of the boys gave her a look that quite clearly said ‘yeah right’.

“It isn't,” repeated Root. “I have cystic fibrosis.”

“I’ve heard of that,” said the old lady. “But I don't know what it is exactly.”

Root proceeded to give the brief biological explanation that she had given to nearly everybody she had ever met. “It’s a genetic disorder that I was born with that causes the body to produce excess amounts of mucus and mainly affects the lungs and digestive system.” Naturally, she sounded liked she’d swallowed a textbook but it seems to satisfy the onlookers and allowed her to purchase her item in peace.

Next stop was the music shop. Root’s favourite place in the entire city. Coloured music notes were painted in the windows, CDs hung from the ceiling and sparkled in the light and an old-fashioned jukebox sat at the back of the shop.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully to the man at the register. “My girlfriend really wants a CD with a specific song on it so can I sing to to you? I know this seems really strange but are don't know its name or anything.”

He didnt even seem fazed. “I've seen it all working in here, love. Go ahead.” He motioned for her to continue.

“Sing! Whoa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-o. Whoa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-o.” Yikes, thought Root. That sounded way better in my head.

The cashier nodded along. “You want X by Ed Sheeran. That song is called sing.” He pointed to a CD on a nearby rack with a black and green cover.

Makes sense, she figured. “Thank you!” She grabbed the CD, paid and thanked him again before leaving.

When Root arrived back she unlocked the door, put her keys back in her pocket and announced, “Honey! I’m home!”

The mountain of tissues on the floor by Shaw had multiplied and her nose was so red she could easily be mistaken for Rudolph. “Did you get my CD?” croaked Shaw.

“I did.” Root held it up for her to see then passed over the packet of painkillers. Shaw got one out while Root fetched a glass of water from the kitchenette. She sat with her girlfriend on the sofa for a while, not really paying attention to the sitcom they were watching.

Half an hour later, when the painkillers were doing their job, Shaw decided she was going to bed for a bit and bundled her duvet in her arms. Slowly but steadily, she walked to the bedroom and Root took this opportunity to stretch out across the sofa and tap her lap for Bear to sit on. His weight in Root’s lap was warm and comforting, and she ran her fingers through his soft fur. Flicking through the chanells, she watched the second half of an episode of the Ellen show. When it ended she glanced at her watch and concluded it would probably be a good idea to eat something. Turning her head, she could hear Shaw sneezing like a particularly aggressive man in the bedroom. The poor soul, thought Root. At least she's awake. “Shawwwwww!” she hollered.

“Root, go and see what Root wants!” yelled Shaw in return.

She moved Bear off her and stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. “Sweetie, I think you've gotten a little used to ordering me around.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Shaw, rolling over. “I’m too ill for this.”

“Its OK, baby,” said Root soothingly. “I’ll call John. Maybe another person is just what we need.”

In the living room, Root scrolled through the contacts on her phone. ‘Babe’, ‘father dearest’, ‘geek buddy’, ‘grace’, ‘joss the responsible, ‘mother dearest’ and finally selected ‘the big lug’.

“John? Sam’s ill and we would really appreciate your help.”


	4. chapter 4

Sat in the school cafeteria during one of their free periods, Shaw munched on her wrap while watching Root stare at her packet of salted cashew nuts as if she had reason to despise it.

Finally Shaw swallowed her mouthful and gave in with a sigh. “Root, has that food done something to offend you?”

Root started in surprise and dropped the packet. It landed on top of her folder and a couple of nuts rolled across the table until she slammed a hand down on them. “Huh?”

“You were glaring a hole through the packet.” Shaw folded up her wrapper and threw it in the trashcan. Then she stretched back in her chair and returned her gaze to her Biology notes.

“Oh, right.” Sweeping the stray nuts into the trash and popping a few into her mouth, Root played with her pen and chewed thoughtfully while revising irregular French verbs in the pluperfect tense.

“It’s Persian New Year soon,” began Shaw. “And I was wondering if you would want to come with me to stay at my parents house for a few days? We’re having a low-key celebration thing and my cousins are all coming and I figured it might be nice for you to meet the rest of my family.”

“I’d love to!” gasped Root, clasping her hands to her chest. “Sameen, I’m so honored that you want me there!”

“It was kinda my parents idea actually,” she said awkwardly. “They think you're awesome.”

Root laughed and blushed slightly. “Your parents are so great.”

Shaw nodded and stood. “I’m just getting a drink. You want one?” 

“No thanks.”

Shaw stepped over to the cooler and filled a cup with water. When she sat down again, she asked, “So, you and Harold have been friends for a long time, right?”

“Since kindergarten,” replied Root, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“Yeah. How long has he known you're a lesbian? Only answer if you're OK talking about that,” added Shaw hastily.

Root laughed. “It’s more than fine, Sameen. I can't believe I haven't told you this story. It's the best story ever!”

“Go on.”

“So, it was about the third year of high school and we were in the cafeteria, just me and Harry, and I was babbling ten to the dozen about Willow and Tara from Buffy. The poor soul had been unable to get a word in edgeways for a good half hour - you know how much I love the sound of my own voice - until eventually he slammed his hand down on the table and went ‘no lesbians at the dinner table!’. So naturally I pushed my chair back and casually went ‘I’ll be off then’. But he just sighed and said ‘Root do you have to be so dramatic about everything? Approved lesbians are allowed at the table.’.”

Shaw snorted. “That is so you! Dramatic to a fault.”

“Yes, it is a fault,” said Root dramatically, flourishing a hand. “And another of my faults is being late so we may want to head to class.”

“Yep.” Shaw grunted as she picked up her rucksack and placed it on the table, shoving her folder into it. “Feel my bag.”

Root took hold of the strap and lifted. The coarse fabric hurt her fingers as it strained against them. “What the heck do you have in there?”

“Food, pencil case, German textbook, folder, spare Biology textbook-”

“ _Spare_ Biology textbook?”

“Oh, and Biology textbook. Good call.”

Root slid the rucksack back over to Shaw who shouldered it as she stood. “Hey, where’s Bear?”

“Having some down time in the Nurse’s office since I don't have a whole lot of walking to do today.” Root put on her bag and pushed open both of the doors on her way out of the cafeteria. Shaw shook her head and smiled as she followed her girlfriend out.

On the staircase, Root was stood by Shaw until only the heel of her boot made it on to the step and her foot tilted forward alarmingly. Before she could regain her balance or catch the banister, she pitched down to the bottom in one large, unstable step whereupon she couldn't find her footing at the bottom and somehow ended up sat on the ground. All of which took place in about a second.

“Are you alright?” asked Shaw quickly, racing down the last few steps and missing the final one out completely.

“Only my pride is hurt,” replied Root dismally as her gaze alighted on the nearby classroom. Through the glass panel on the door, every single student had seen her wreck herself all over the staircase. Grand. She narrowed her eyes at them coldly and picked herself up with as much dignity as she could muster. Which, needless to say, wasn't much. Especially since she had somehow managed to bruise her hip on the way down without noticing. “Don't we have class?”

“We do.” Shaw pushed open the door leading to the main hallway and Root shot one last glare over her shoulder on her way out.

Two doors down was their maths class. The pair entered and squeezed behind Harold, who was already there, in order to get to their seats. Root sat on the far right of the front row, with Shaw and Harold on her left. Root unpacked her pencil case and book, and crossed her legs comfortably. 

At the front of the classroom the teacher quickly explained the task, carrying on from what they had learned last lesson, and handed out a worksheet filled with equations and worded questions.

Root read through it quickly and began working out which methods would be best to use for them all. Then she happened to glance at Harold who was frowning at the first question. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

Harold pointed at the name ‘Vaughn’ on the sheet. “How would you two pronounce this name?”

Shaw scoffed and scrunched up her nose in disdain. “My first language is Farsi. What makes you think I can help?”

“Well quite,” stuttered Harold. He turned to his other friend dejectedly, “Root?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Hey, my first language is ASL.”

“It’s OK,” said Harold. He leaned back in his chair and turned to the girl behind him. “Maddie, could you get John? Thank you.”

Maddie reached across the diagonal gap between their seats and prodded John in the arm with her ruler. When he have her a ‘what the heck Maddie’ look she simply waved a hand in Harold's general direction and returned to her work.

“Thank you, Maddie. John, how would you pronounce this name?” He held up his sheet and pointed. 

John located the name on his own sheet and read it. “Vaun,” he said.

“Vaun, alright. Thank you,” said Harold politely.

Everyone carried on with their worksheet, and Root finished it in about fifteen minutes. Then she decided to highlight key parts of the questions so when she went back to revise it she would be able to remember her thought process. “Shaw, please can I borrow a highlighter?”

“Sure.” She handed her a yellow highlighter and Root used her left hand to go over a few words. “Wait, are you left handed?”

“Shaw, please can I borrow another highlighter?” Shaw handed her a pink one and she used her right hand this time.

“Hang on, are you left handed or right handed?”

Root looked up at her. “Yes.”

“Huh. OK then.” Shaw finished the last question just as the teacher drew the attention of the class towards the smartboard on which he had written ‘a2 + b2 = c2’, ‘a/SinA = b/SinB’ and ‘a2=b2+c2-2bcCosA’.

“Ok team. Now that we have recapped last lessons work we are going to be studying Pythagoras Theorem,” he said, pointing to the offensive-to-the-eye equations.

“What the heck is that?” muttered Root under her breath. 

Shaw caught her eye and smirked. Then she slowly signed ‘Triangles’ while mouthing the word over-exaggeratedly. She left the words ‘you moron’ heavily implied.

“Oh, right. Of course,” whispered Root. “I knew that.”

“Sure you did.” Shaw patted her hand affectionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more installment in the series featuring a trip to the Shaw homestead for Persian New Year.


End file.
